


Even the phoenix burns

by EliotRosewater



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Child Death, Family, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Pre-Season/Series 01, Stand Alone, Tea, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliotRosewater/pseuds/EliotRosewater
Summary: After a week at sea aboard theWani, Iroh cared for Zuko's wound.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 270





	Even the phoenix burns

Prince Zuko wasn't sleeping well. Iroh stood in the doorway to his nephew's quarters aboard the _Wani_ and watched him breathe through gritted teeth. One eye wrenched closed and the other hidden beneath bandages. The wound was nearly a week old now. His eye hadn't opened during any of the dressing changes, and based on what Iroh had been able to coax out of his nephew, the ear reported nothing but indistinct muffling.

It has been too long, Iroh decided. If they did not attempt to open the eyelid now, he feared it would seal itself. He hadn't seen Zuko's eye before the physicians at the palace had bandaged it, so he had no idea if the eye itself was damaged. So he had to know, and it had to be done. Iroh had to see it. If the eye was damaged, if it was festering under the closed lid… It would not be comfortable, not that anything about Prince Zuko's life was comfortable (now or ever, as Iroh was coming to fully appreciate).

A sound stiffer than a whimper met Iroh at the door. His nephew rolled onto his right side.

"Prince Zuko," he said softly and began to approach. "We must clean your wound and open your eye. Are you rested enough?"

"Why don't you try resting when half of your face is melted off," Zuko grounded out between clenched teeth and closed eye. It was one of the longest things he'd said since they'd taken to sea.

Hurt, Iroh knew, could be a good sign. Things that were dead did not hurt.

"I understand you are in pain, my nephew, and this is why rest is so important. Here, I've brought you some hot tea." Iroh held out the steaming teacup.

Zuko did not shift to face him. "I don't want any tea."

"Please, Prince Zuko, this tea will ease your pain."

Iroh quickly realised that was not the correct thing to say.

" _I said I don't want it!_ " Zuko shouted and then recoiled. From the pain in his face. From the dryness of his throat. From everything.

Fire surged inside Iroh, but he kept it contained. Made it flicker patiently inside his chest. "Are you saying you _want_ to be in pain?"

Silence and the gentle creaking of the ship against the waves.

Zuko said in a defeated sort of tone, "You heard my father."

Iroh couldn't contain it: He heard his brother's voice echo in his memories, " _You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher_ ," and then the candles flared for a split second. The Dragon of the West longed to fly again.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh said sternly. He placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "You will gain nothing from lying here in pain. This kind of suffering teaches no wisdom."

Zuko shook him off and finally turned to face Iroh. Aggression and resentment was writ in every line of his face. " _I deserve it_!"

"You _do not_." The candles flared a full second this time. "You _do not_ deserve to be in pain, and you will learn nothing from it. Prince Zuko, you have done nothing wrong."

"Clearly I have. Or else I wouldn't be on this Agni-forsaken ship! Why did you even follow me here? To make things worse! I don't need you here constantly reminding me of everything I've lost!"

Such a thing to say. It was not difficult for Iroh to understand what his nephew was saying. In recent time, Iroh had come to realise that he himself had done a number of things wrong, not least of all being a decorated general in a bloody war. How many had been slain on his order—by his own hand? How many families broken, children orphaned? He had celebrated and _been_ celebrated for the doom he'd brought down on others.

It had taken the devastating loss of his own son for Iroh to even realise the decades of _wrong_ he had committed. In retrospect, it seemed never to have crossed his mind that the Fire Nation was wrong to pursue this war. Iroh had lived his whole life in it, never questioning it. It was as if blinders had been ripped from his eyes and cotton from over his ears when Lu Ten died. And he saw all ninety-odd years of war for what it was. Saw himself for what _he_ was.

If anyone should be left to suffer in punishment, it was Iroh. Alas, he would not let himself dwell on his own mistakes and miseries. No matter how much Iroh might like to punish himself for all he'd done and let happen (he _deserved_ it), he knew that did nothing to bring about the end to the world's suffering.

Iroh shook his head. "I came with you, Prince Zuko, because you are my blood. I am not trying to remind you of the Fire Lord or the throne. I am trying to remind you of _family_. You do not throw away family. They are not expendable. They are precious."

It cut the fury in his nephew's eye by half. The fight went out of him, but Iroh wasn't so sure he was glad to see it go.

"I'm not Lu Ten, Uncle," he said.

That wound in Iroh's chest was plucked at the sound of his son's name. No, Zuko was not Lu Ten. That was the point.

"You are not," Iroh agreed. He allowed his fire to sink into the teacup he'd brought for Zuko. It was an outlet for his emotion. Besides, the tea was getting tepid. "Any decent person would not want another to be in pain, Prince Zuko. It is not wrong to speak against the unnecessary suffering of others. Whether you are my son or not, I will not see you like this."

Iroh watched the words sink it. They weighed on Zuko until he laid down again, face avoiding Iroh's.

"What you said in the war room was not wrong," Iroh said. "I would have said the same thing if you hadn't beaten me to it."

Zuko threw a doubtful eye upward.

"Well, maybe using different words," Iroh amended with a gentle laugh. "Do you think differently about what you said, Prince Zuko?"

"If I knew I would end up here, I wouldn't have said anything."

"No, I asked if you think what you said is wrong. Ignore what happened as a consequence of you speaking out. Do you think it was a good strategy to sacrifice the young battalion?"

No eye contact but Zuko shook his head once.

"You did the right thing, nephew. You should not suffer for doing the right thing."

For a few moments Zuko remained stubbornly still. But then the tension bled out of his shoulders by degrees, and Iroh knew no more resistance would be had. Zuko sat himself up and shifted to face Iroh. It took a great deal of restraint for Iroh not to help his nephew; he knew it would not be appreciated. Once seated, Zuko kept his head downcast.

Iroh offered the tea again. It was a relief when Zuko accepted it. Patience while he stared at the teacup and eventually sipped from it.

" _Gah!_ Uncle, that the worst tea you've ever made." It was meant to have been said with much more bite, Iroh thought. But Zuko ate and drank just as much as he slept. That is, _not nearly enough._ Any movement agitated the wound: chewing, talking, yelling at the crew. Drinking was easier, so tea should be easy to get down.

"I think it's supposed to taste like that," Iroh said lightly.

He expected a sarcastic retort, but Zuko had none to offer. He sipped the tea again, fought against pulling a face at the taste, and remained silent.

 _It's only been a week,_ Iroh reminded himself.

He began unwinding the bandages. They came away stained with pale yellow fluid. The burn was still angry red and shiny, but it seemed less swollen. Evidence of healing. Or perhaps of the effectiveness of the salves. If ever the burned eyelid would be able to open, it would be now.

"How does it feel?" Iroh asked.

"Throbs."

"Can you open your eye?" he said in a soft voice.

Zuko closed both eyes and seemed to focus. Iroh watched the burn, marvelled at absence of eyebrow and eyelashes. The lid twitched.

"Did it open?" Zuko asked.

"It moved. Still closed now."

A sigh. "I'll try again." A sip of tea first.

Iroh waited a few moments more. The line between upper and lower lid separated. A sliver of pink sclera and gold iris peeked through. Zuko hissed and it was gone.

"Are you alright?"

"Really bright."

A relieved laugh fell out of Iroh's chest. "It opened. You can see?"

Zuko drank deeper from the teacup. "I just saw a lot of light."

But he _saw_.

"Will you let me open it?" Iroh asked tentatively, his hand raised lowly.

"I'll do it." More tea.

And so Iroh guided his nephew's hand up to his eye. Forefinger on the upper lid and middle finger on the lower, Zuko eased his own eyelid apart. Iroh saw the burned sclera in all of its glory. It was not as bad as it could have been. Zuko let the lid slide closed again a little sooner than Iroh would have liked.

"Can you see?" he asked.

"A little too well," Zuko said and leaned away from Iroh. "I don't ever want to see the inside of your nose that closely again."

Iroh chuckled and set about cleaning the wound. Zuko gingerly eased his eyelid open again so Iroh could administer a few drops of the elixir the palace physician had given him before the _Wani_ 's departure. There was a sigh of relief after his eye closed again.

Just as Iroh was about to apply the salve and cover the wound again, Zuko asked, "It looks awful, doesn't it?" His head ducked to drink the remainder of the tea and hide the self-conscious redness rising in his cheeks.

"Never pick a fire lily before it blooms, Prince Zuko."

"I know it's supposed to humiliate me. A firebender with a burn like this on his face."

Iroh hummed a little tune and began applying the new dressing. "Even the phoenix burns before it is reborn."

The tea put Zuko down for a much more peaceful-looking sleep shortly after the new bandage was secured. Iroh collected the teacup and indulged himself for a few minutes sitting at his nephew's bedside. If he could save just one son from this war, he would do it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's poppy seeds. Iroh brewed Zuko some opium tea.


End file.
